The Girl In The Affair
by marisolace
Summary: A collection of -usually- randomly sorted stories -usually- from Reira's point of view, though both usual instances are subject to change. Slight angst with a comedic tone. TakumixReira.
1. A Certain Egyptian River

**DISCLAIMER:** Layla, Ren, and the rest of the cast of NANA do not belong to me. That's property of Ai Yazawa. I just take her things and put them in my own little inane stories. The collection's title refers to a song by the same name, by Jill Sobule.

Also something of note: Layla is referred to as Layla in the narrative, but referred to by other characters as Reira. Usually. So that isn't a total inconsistency on my part, that was done on purpose.

With that... Enjoy.

* * *

"Was that what you really wanted?" 

Layla blinked. The crisp London air was drying her eyes out. It was fairly cold in the park that day. After what seemed like aimless hours of walking, they'd stopped by a bench. Ren felt it would've been more suitable to sit and rest, which was the entire point of their trip, but she, herself, was noticably rest_less_. She remained standing.

There was a slight pause before her reply. "... What do you mean?"

"... To become the number one vocalist in Japan?"

A sigh escaped her, as she attempted some kind of half-hearted laugh. "Well, to be honest, as long as I can sing great songs, the fame doesn't really matter to me."

"To be _honest_?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I have a band to hold up, Ren." _I shouldn't have to explain my reasoning, _she thought. Knowing this, she explained regardless.

"In any case, it's not like I can just walk away from everything now."

He held his silence, and Layla's gaze became increasingly more hesitant.

Another pause. "What is it?"

He hunched over, elbow on the knee, and adopted a Thinker-like pose. She would've smirked at his likeness to the sculpture, but Ren seemed too serious at the moment to warrant that. Instead, she bit her lip.

"So, you're telling me that, no matter _who _you end up with..."

She opened her mouth to interrupt, but no words would suffice. Layla looked away, pained.

_Don't say it. Please, Ren, don't say it._

"... You still won't be able to give up your place..."

_**Don't say it.**_

"Of being by Takumi's side?"

_He said it_. And with that, she was frozen in her place. You never do realize just how much the truth can hurt until you're subjected to it aloud, and Layla's truth was no exception. It was like it was a hit song, lyrics staring her in the face. Only... It was one of _their_ hit songs staring her in the face. So, in her defense, she gave him the best comeback she could muster.

"You're wrong."

She sighed. The simplicity made her cringe, and she was starting to wonder exactly what she was thinking when she wrote a song detailing her various insecurities._ Was I drunk?_

Ren shook his head. "Look, Reira. If you care about Takumi, you should at least learn how to be honest with yourself."

_I was drunk._

No longer able to look at him without visible shame in her eyes, she averted her glance. It was decided the ground would be a nice replacement. Grass doesn't usually reprimand people.

"For example... If things don't go how I want them to with Nana, and she ends up with some other guy - I want to hold her as dear to me later as I do now, even if we aren't together."

_How sweet and unselfish of you. _She laughed a little inside.

"And I don't want to harbor any bad feelings. Like anger,"

Ouch.

"Or hate,"

_Ouch._

"Or denial."

When Ren wanted to rub salt into people's wounds, it wasn't something he hesitated with. It was a little-known fact, and something Layla particularly hated him for. Partially because he only did it through honesty, and partially because it reminded her of the man she had tried so hard to forget. Though, with the salt, Takumi had a tendency to include an entire spice cabinet.

At that moment, the grass started reprimanding her.


	2. Work

(( note: Takumi and Reira do not belong to me -- They are property of Ai Yazawa. With that in mind, enjoy the short drabble. ))

* * *

"Stop," she moaned.

I wasn't really in any position to do so. Arched over her body like a broken circle, it certainly wasn't the most flattering of poses. I was panting as if dragged through the depths of hell and craned like a fishing hook placed in a bottleneck. In short, we were cramped. In long, I suppose we were bathing. And in longer than necessary, I guess we were fucking, too.

This was one of those times you shouldn't really _want_ to stop, anyway, what with the tension being high and the sweat bleeding from every orifice. The sight is rather unnerving. I'm not sure why anyone bothers to look, let alone halt for conversation... And yet I was watching her movements like a hawk. ... A hawk in a washroom, which is about as awkward as this could get.

And, well, she was wet. _Obviously_, in certain places, water aside, but this instance included her eyes.

"Are.. Are you **crying**?"

I opened my mouth for a minute, but there was nothing to add. I couldn't believe it.

In retrospect, it was a stupid thing to ask. Of course she was crying, she'd been crying since the clothes came off and the faucet turned on. It's not like I was trying to force her or anything; she didn't pull back when I gave her the chance. It's not like I wanted to do this, either. I gave her plenty of chances. She'd given me plenty of chances, too, though mine ran out a bit faster than hers. Why else would I be here?

I heard her sigh and her tears recede. She leaned back, a subtle heave of the chest -- I didn't bother to figure she'd grown at all, which surprised me when I realized she did -- and a roll of the shoulders, overall a lot more slender than what I was used to. It's been years, really. A part of me wanted to call it entrancing, maybe even seductive.

And then I remembered who I was looking at.


End file.
